


Possession

by xzombiexkittenx



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies), Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl (2003)
Genre: M/M, Mentions of Previous Violence, Slavery, the violence inherent in the system
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-10
Updated: 2006-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-14 17:40:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4573707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xzombiexkittenx/pseuds/xzombiexkittenx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack is sold into slavery. James finds him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was unseasonably hot out in the courtyard and James was sweating profusely under his wig. His heels, fashionable, if not highly impractical, were making his calves ache and with the added weight of an embroidered frock coat he suddenly had a very good idea of why exactly it was that Miss Swann had fainted that day out on the battlements. There was not a breath of fresh air to be had and he fanned himself with the little pamphlet that he had been given. On the more optimistic side of affairs, he at least had some cover from the direct rays of the sun, unlike the poor wretches being assembled up on the platform. 

If you had asked any of his men to name the last place in the world that one might expect to find James Norrington –whilst he was barely ashore on his first day acting as a sort of diplomat – a gentleman’s auction of slaves (including highly skilled, highly prized, or illegal white slaves – not indentured men) might have easily made the list.

James was not a man out to make a political statement at this point in his career. He had the favor of the governor, true, and a promising future ahead of him, but his position was not Admiral, nor was he of an old and noble family. If he wished to keep his place then he would do well not to make overly large waves. Letting Jack Sparrow have that one day’s start (that had turned into one year of being led on a merry chase and ten months of wondering where in Hell Sparrow had vanished to after that) had been enough of a gesture. Not that it had made its way into his reports. In any case, James was content to keep his secret away from the scrutiny of Port Royal and between himself and those who it directly affected. 

His estate took very little upkeep. He was a bachelor and he had no dependants. He dined in the barracks more often than not and both he and his housekeeper were skilled enough at mending that he needed a new uniform only rarely. So for the past ten years, James had been saving wisely for his eventual marriage and using what was left to do what he liked to call his little acts of Good Will T’wards Men.

In ten years James had managed to buy and free eighteen slaves overall, including three families. It wasn’t anything like a dent in the slave trade, but he was not a rich man, and James asked nothing in return from the men and women he freed. He would write them letters of reference so they might take jobs as paid domestics or take apprenticeships and become skilled laborers. On one memorable occasion he had paid for one man’s passage back to Africa. His housekeeper was one of the women he had freed and her husband kept his garden for him. They lived on his estate and took a small wage – less than he would have liked to give, but they pressed him to save their wages to free others, as room and board did them just fine.

This particular auction was not yielding the results that James might have hoped. Most of the men being bought and sold were going to skilled positions and James preferred to help those in dire need of it. A man being sold as a manservant didn’t seem to need rescue anywhere near as much as someone to be sent to slave in cotton fields until they dropped from exhaustion. 

It was only after one strikingly handsome young man had been sold that James’ suspicion was aroused. The second time another boy of great physical beauty was auctioned off to a man of questionable tastes – to put it delicately – he decided it was no coincidence and this market was a venue not only for men with skills and illegal slaves but also for boys suitable for sodomites to keep as catamites. It was enough to make the headache building behind James’ eyes stab into him with an acute pain. 

If you were to ask his men a second time about James Norrington, they might shrug and say that still waters run deep, but it would be a sharp eye indeed that would label him as a lover of men. James could not condemn one man for loving another, since if law and position would not hang him for doing so, James might have easily taken up with some fellow or other, but since the law would indeed see him hung, James kept his desires to himself. The Navy provided him with enough work to keep him distracted from concerning himself with the pleasures of the flesh. Neither could he condemn those who would sell themselves for coin because he wasn’t so foolish as not to know this was the only option for some unfortunates. He did not like it, but he would not damn them for it.

This, however, was something altogether different and it rankled.

Out amongst these gentlemen, no one would question him if he were to purchase one of these boys because so long as one took a wife and made heirs they seemed to care less who one chose to indulge with in their free time. It did cross James’ mind, however, that these noblemen were exactly the same men he might be meeting later on and he did not want to have to suffer their winks and nods. In all probability he would have to keep the boy under a pretense of servitude until they were aboard again and then he would have to suffer the questioning of his men and his secret would be out in the open and…

Christ, James thought, fanning himself with renewed vigor just so he could get some air; it was all such a bloody mess.

James was not an overly religious man. He did not trouble the Lord with the troubles of his daily life but he said his prayers and gave his thanks when they were due and in return he only asked that God guide him to where his help was most needed when he tried to help his fellow man. Mostly, it seemed as though his prayers were being answered in subtle and quiet ways. This time, when he was close to heat exhaustion, at a loss over the course to take and about ready to despair, it seemed like God really had been listening because it was not a quiet and gentle hint that he received as to whom to save, it was like being struck about the ears by a particularity vicious fishwife (an unfortunate experience he’d had when he was young that he’d never quite recovered from and had maintained a distrust of all such women and their surprisingly strong fists).

On the auction block, stripped down to the loincloth worn by all slaves at such actions, was a man being touted as a gypsy prince. This so-called prince was in a poor state compared to the rest of the men; he was favoring his left foot and his posture was poor. When he was prodded into turning about there were lash marks on his back less than a fortnight old. He did not seem to be, as they said, a wild, untamable spirit (which seemed to spark some interest amongst some men that James had picked out as being unsavory); he looked tired and broken. Neither was the man as young as they were claiming, James would have said somewhere in his late thirties but they were boasting he was about the age of twenty. True, his skin was a rich golden color but that looked like a very deep tan to James, and not entirely by virtue of birth. His whipcord muscles were the product of years of hard labor; Keep that man out of the sun and he would pale and weaken. Yes, his hair was thick and longish, but it was not, as they claimed, black as ebony, it had simply been oiled until it was dark with the gloss, and the tattoos the man sported were not barbaric sigils, they were common amongst sailors – though the mermaid with the shark’s teeth and the woman in black who looked half ghost, half widow were very nicely inked. The ship on his back was the masterpiece of the collection, though it had been marred by the lash marks.

All in all, James was about as impressed as he had been the first time he had seen the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow; and that really wasn’t saying much.

This time, however, his emotions were more to do with pity than anger and this time he wasn’t afraid for the bright young woman he’d hoped to marry but for the glittering creature who’d eluded him time and again and brought him much respite from the drudgery of paperwork. Jack Sparrow was not a man made to be obedient and paraded in front of gentlemen like so much chattel in chains and, stripped of his ragged finery and of his barbaric baubles and trinkets that had adorned him, he looked horribly forlorn. He looked a great deal less impressive, or at least less threatening, without the great tangle of hair and the braided beard. James found himself wishing they’d not taken that from Sparrow as well. But this was not Jack Sparrow, simply a ghost of him. This was a man who needed his help, no matter how ill advised it seemed. 

Less than five minutes later, and James found himself the questionably proud owner of one gypsy prince, formerly known as one Jack Sparrow, pirate and irritant extraordinaire. He made his way through the crowd to where he could sign the papers, pay his gold and pick up what was left of Sparrow’s effects and what was left of Sparrow. 

God, he prayed silently, you’ve shown me what to do today, all I ask is that you show Sparrow that keeping his foolish mouth shut would be the most prudent course of action at this time.

Either James was on a holy mission, Jack Sparrow was smarter than he played himself as, or the pirate was too exhausted and dazzled by the heat to properly notice what was going on, because he made no indication of recognizing James at all. They had none of his old clothing though they had saved the baubles and trinkets that had been woven into his hair. Instead, Sparrow had some sort of elaborate costume that, James supposed, was meant to resemble a gentleman’s romantic ideal of what a gypsy should wear. It involved impractical trews of a baggy, harem nature, a sash not unlike the one Sparrow had owned, except clean and a great deal shorter, a flowing shirt of deep red and knee high boots that were as foolishly designed as Sparrow’s previous pair, only skin tight and designed to show off the curve of Sparrow’s leg. If nothing else, the clothing proved James’ theory right. They were not slave clothing, they were the clothes of a man meant to be kept for ornament.

Sparrow dressed himself as James signed the papers and Sparrow moved slowly and stiffly, like a man who had been working at labors he was unused to.

“Watch yourself with this one,” the man in charge of the contracts said amicably. “He’s a bit of a handful, so don’t be afraid to give him a few licks with the cane. He’s tougher than he looks anyhow, so he can take it just fine.”

James’ naval training was the only thing that kept his lip from curling into a sneer. “Is that so,” he said instead. “I was hoping someone might explain the lashes on his back.”

The man shrugged and took James’ money. “From what I heard, he put up a bit of fuss at being sold. He’s not been in service before, you see. They’ve taken the better part of the year to train him to behave, that’s why the price. That, and though he’s been taught to behave, he’s got no real habits needing to be changed to suit, so it’s a blank slate you’ve just bought yourself.” 

“Does he have a name?” James asked quietly, deciding he was going to need a very long bath to rid himself of the dirty feeling he was getting. 

“It’s here-” the man pointed at a place on the papers – “says ‘Jack’ but that can be changed, if you like. It’s not a very interesting name, and they might have just picked it if they couldn’t spell his original name. I see a lot of ‘Jack’s, and ‘John’s, and such.”

Next to them, carefully not looking up, Sparrow had gone very quiet and very still. James shook his head. “No, Jack is fine.” It almost hurt to watch the tiny shudder that ran through Sparrow at that; as though keeping his name (or, more likely, the name he’d chosen for himself when embarking upon his ill advised career as a pirate) was either the greatest relief he could have been given, or perhaps the greatest punishment.

“Well, that’s about it then.” He handed over the bill of sale to James and smiled broadly. “Enjoy.”

James carefully folded the papers and put them in his coat. “Thank you,” he said politely, and gave Sparrow a tap on the shoulder with his pamphlet. “Follow me.” To his surprise and sorrow, Sparrow did as he was told. He was definitely limping, though he seemed to be doing his best to hide the problem. James made no comment and Sparrow made no sign that he recognized James and they continued this way until, a few streets away from the auction, James led Sparrow into a small tavern and gestured for him to sit. Sparrow did so, keeping his head down and put his hands in his lap. It was unnerving to see him so still and so quiet.

“Sparrow…” James began.

Sparrow’s head came up so fast that James feared he would have whiplash. His dark eyes were wide and haunted and his mouth hung slightly agape. “Commodore?” he said, sounding confused as he looked. Then he bit down on his bottom lip, cringed, and dropped his gaze again.

James tried not to flinch too. “Sparrow, for God’s sake, man, look at me.” This time Sparrow looked up but not directly at James, more like at his left shoulder. It was irritating and frustrating because it was how high class slaves were trained to look at their masters without actually looking at them. “I’m not going to hit you, if that’s what you’re afraid of,” James said tiredly. “I have no interest in owning a slave and less interest in beating men into such an intolerable state of submission.”

Sparrow slowly met his gaze, the corners of his mouth trembling with some suppressed emotion. “If you’re going to hang me, Commodore,” he said quietly, “can it at least be where I can see the water? Consider it a last request.” His shoulders crept up and his head lowered again, as though he were too exhausted to sit upright any longer. “I ain’t seen the sea for so long.” His voice was so quiet that James almost missed it, and then wasn’t so sure that he didn’t wish that he had. He was a sailor first, and a commodore second and he loved the sea like it was in his blood and he could understand all too well the anguish in Sparrow’s voice.

James smiled suddenly, a slight upturn of his lips, and the weight in his heart lifted. “You know, after you disappeared I couldn’t figure out what had happened, especially since the Black Pearl was still causing trouble.” Sparrow cringed like he’d been struck but James continued, in equally good humor and indicated to the serving girl that he’d like two drinks and don’t water them either. “I assumed you’d met some sort of bizarre end and I just hadn’t heard the story yet from Mrs. Turner – I believe you know her better as Miss Swann – then I found out, from a very interesting, and somewhat intimidating young woman that the Black Pearl didn’t know where you’d vanished to either. I found that your AnaMaria is a very reasonable woman. As is that Gibbs fellow, though he is somewhat more prone to lengthy soliloquies than she is.” 

The drinks were set before them and James paused to ease his thirst. Sparrow took hold of his own mug, waited, as though unsure of reprisal and then began drinking like a man who’d been in the desert. James watched for a moment until Sparrow, panting, set his mug down. It was empty. He motioned for another to be brought to Sparrow and then continued with his piece of good news;

“There’s likely to be a war. There’s always a war, and the Royal Navy is always in need of privateers even if there isn’t officially anyone to be attacking. A ship as notorious as the Black Pearl could raid whom she wished, when she wished, and it would never be suspected that she is a privateer ship now.” James kept his tone bland. 

Sparrow looked up sharply but didn’t say anything.

“I might even make Admiral in a short time, since I’m the man who brought such a notorious ship to heel – or at least that’s the version that the Admiralty in London are getting,” James continued, as though Sparrow had made no indication he was even listening. “That said, I believe it’s Gibbs’ name on the articles as Acting Captain, though AnaMaria is the one who actually commands the crew. We thought it prudent not to announce the fact that there was a woman aboard since the Pearl is now, technically, part of the Navy. Oh, you might appreciate the fact that Anamaria signed on as …Give me a moment, I think it was…something like John Thomas, or Robert Head,” he allowed himself to chuckle a bit at that, as he hadn’t been able to do when he’d first seen the name. “I protested, but your crew thought it hilarious, so who was I to dissuade them?”

“Acting Captain?” Sparrow’s knuckles were white he was gripping the mug so hard. 

James nodded, calm as a mill pond. “Well she is your ship.” He gave Sparrow a stern look. “So long as you keep to the privateering business, of course.” The look softened considerably at the pain visible on Sparrow’s face and he said, almost teasing; “Well it would seem a damned shame to have to hang you now after your first mate so cleverly negotiated your pardon.”

It took a long time, but Sparrow slowly unclenched his fingers and gave James a look of utter disbelief. “You don’ want to keep me as a slave, an’ you ain’t going to hang me; rather, I get to go free an’ go home an’ continue with my wicked ways, so long as I don’t attack Ol’ George’s ships. Have I got that right?”

“That’s about the long and the short of it,” James agreed as the second mug was placed in front of Sparrow. “I imagine you’ll be wanting that rot-gut you’ve got in front of you, right about now,” he said dryly. 

Sparrow drank reflexively. His hands were shaking. He put the mug down abruptly and started to laugh. His laughing sounded as though it was halfway between sobbing and hysteria and he put his face in his hands, digging unusually clean fingers into his sleek, oiled hair. “I ain’t seen the sea for months, nor had a drop of liquor. I ain’t seen my Pearl…” He looked up at James and his eyes were haunted. “I thought I would die like this. Why did you save me?”

James shrugged one shoulder and sipped at his own drink. The rum, though not his drink of choice when ashore, was strong and sweet. He meant to say something like, ‘a momentary lapse of sanity’ but what came out was the truth; “I do what I can to help others.”

“You’ve done this before,” Sparrow accused and the laughter started up again. “Christ, the scourge of piracy savin’ slaves. Saving a pirate slave…” He calmed himself after a moment or two, enough to take another swallow of the rum, which seemed to calm him a little more. “Those men will ask after me,” he said between wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, cringing and jerking his hand away and then looking embarrassed at doing so. “You’ve bought me fair an’ square an’ they’re going t’ notice if I’m prancing about like a free man.”

The idea of Sparrow’s prancing, as he called it, was enough to make James smile again. “I daresay even I would be pleased to see you…enjoying your freedom, after-” after seeing him flinch like a dog beaten once too many times- “after your ordeal, but you are quite correct. I am here for two weeks and in that time I believe we might come to some arrangement wherein you act as my slave and I don’t abuse your trust.” He lifted his mug with an ironic look. “Do we have an accord?”

“Aye, aye, Commodore, on my honor.” He watched James warily as though James might doubt his word or his honor; two things James had no intention of doing, since a Pirate Sparrow was, and he’d certainly proven himself dishonest enough, but Turner had been right, like any other good man, Sparrow was not a man to take his word lightly. 

James reached into his coat and withdrew the little packet of beads and trinkets that had been in Sparrow’s hair. “In that case, I believe these are yours.” He sighed wryly as Sparrow ripped open the packet, eager as a child on his birthday. “I must confess, you look rather different without all your…” he floundered, at a loss for a word to fully encompass the multitude of elements that made up Captain Jack Sparrow.

Sparrow looked up at him with what looked suspiciously like tears in his eyes and grinned, hard and sharp as flint. “Give me time,” he said and blinked; all traces of sadness erased and replaced with the same determination that James had seen on his face that first day on the docks. “Give me time.”

“So long as you continue bathing, Sparrow,” James said primly, “I couldn’t care less what you do with your corpus.”

Sparrow shook his head. “That’s no good. Christ, you’d make a terrible Player, no playhouse in the world would be mad enough t’ put you on the boards.” He stuffed the packet into his sash where it made an unsightly bulge in the smooth line of his waist. “It ain’t ‘Sparrow’-”

“Well I can’t very well call you Captain,” James said, and held out his hand. “You’d best give me back your trinkets, you’ve no pockets to keep them in.”

“Jack,” Sparrow said. “You’ve got to call me Jack, or boy, or ‘oi, you, slave’. Mm, perhaps not ‘boy’ since I’m pretty sure I’ve got a good few years on you. Not Sparrow, at any rate; ain’t no one here that knows my name.” He pulled the packet out of his sash again, but didn’t hand it back. “An’ it’s not, ‘you’d best give me,’ it’s got to be ‘Jack, the packet.’” Sparrow glared down his nose and did a passable impression of James’ voice. “Like you’d never been told no before an’ ‘f I was foolish enough as to say so, you’d have me flogged within an inch of my life for it.”

It was James’ turn to go pale. “I’m a sailor,” he said weakly. “I can’t possibly pull such a ridiculous stunt off.”

Sparrow beamed, looking much restored to his former self already. “Well, mate, it’s a good thing I’m here, eh?” He waggled the packet at James. “Try again. It ain’t so very different from orderin’ all your little soldiers about.”

James went quiet for a moment, trawling through his memories and stumbling across himself, facing Sparrow no less, and telling him to be silent as the grave. Then back, further, to his first Captaincy, telling men twice his age what to do and make it quick. He lifted his chin imperceptibly, held out his hand once more but declined to actually look at Sparrow, choosing instead to examine the décor, as though it had some interest. “Jack,” he said, not sharply, but firmly. “If you please.” His tone made it perfectly clear that it didn’t matter one whit what Jack pleased because if it wasn’t what James pleased, then it was clearly wrong thinking.

The packet was placed into his hand without another word.

He relaxed, looking over at Sparrow to hear his verdict and found himself facing a changed man. Sparrow’s head had bowed again, the line of his shoulders stiffening; all trace of earlier mirth had vanished. James slipped Spar– Jack’s trinkets into his coat and frowned. “All right,” he said, finally. “How did I do?”

Jack’s head came up slowly. “Jus’ like that,” he replied, fingers twisting about each other. 

James sighed. “I don’t think I can manage it if you insist on staring at me like I’ve just sunk the Pearl.” He sipped at his drink morosely.

“Don’ say that,” Jack said, but he only sounded weary. “’Sides, I can’t rightly help it anymore. After a year of havin’ such things beat into you, it’s hard to break out of ‘em.” He shrugged one shoulder helplessly. “You say jump, mate, an’ I’ll ask how high.”

“That’s absurd,” James pronounced. “If I told you to kneel on the floor and polish my boots, I imagine you’d do no such thing.”

Jack shook his head and rolled up his right sleeve. Where the P had once been branded an R now showed – runaway – still new enough to be pinkish about the edges. “You own me, Commodore. I ain’t got the stomach for another escape attempt. You tell me t’ lick your boots clean an’ I’ll do it. You tell me t’ stand on one foot an’ recite Homer, I’ll do it. So long as you’ve got my life on your papers, I’ll do as I’m told.”

James went to fish them out of his coat. “Then you may have the damned things and I’ll be glad to be rid of them.” 

Jack reached across the table and put a hand over James’. “Not until we’re clear of here. None of that lot back there will respect you ‘f they know what your game is.”

“Well can’t you just take them and pretend you’re a slave?” James asked, but he withdrew his hand from his coat. Jack’s grip tightened and he shook his head. “Why the devil not?”

“Someone’ll want to see ‘em.”

James gave Jack an odd look. “Jack,” he said by way of trial. “Let go.” Jack let go as if James’ skin burned to touch. “So be it,” James said passing a hand over his face to ward off his impending migraine. “So be it.”


	2. Chapter 2

James looked around his rooms with satisfaction and sank into onto the plush chaise-lounge with a sigh. “God,” he breathed. “It’s been a day to remember.”

Jack idled by the door for a moment but when James leaned over with a groan to unbuckle his shoes to ease his aching feet Jack was kneeling before him in a flash, batting his hands away. “Let me,” Jack said, nimble fingers making short work of the task. “’S what I’m here for.” He set the shoes aside and lifted James’ feet into his lap.

James jerked his feet away, alarmed. “What-”

“Y’ never know who’s watching,” Jack said softly, taking James’ feet back and digging his thumbs into the sole, rubbing the tension out of them. His head was bowed, and James couldn’t see Jack’s face for the soft curtain of hair swinging down over his shoulders. The oils were absorbing and evaporating in the heat so Jack’s hair showed its hues of brown and red. James reached out and pushed one side back behind Jack’s ear so he could see Jack’s face. Jack didn’t even glance up.

“Don’t.” There was a distinct lack of conviction in James’ voice however, since what Jack was doing felt wonderful and the shoes had been a dreadful torment. He was long used to working under tiring conditions, long past the point where he thought he could carry on and so James pulled his resolve together and extracted his feet from Jack’s grip. “If you insist on…” He sighed. “You can make yourself useful by finding someone to arrange a bath for the both of us.”

Jack rose, and if he resented being told what to do he showed no sign of it. He was still limping as he left the room and James made a mental note to ask him about it, along with examining the lash marks on his back. James took the moment to strip off his wig, coat, waistcoat, cravat and to unbutton his cuffs and remove his hose. His trunks had arrived already and so he set about unpacking the few things that needed to be hung up rather than stuffed in a box. By the time Jack returned he was feeling much more himself and he looked up from straightening up his wig on its stand to see Jack, seriously favoring his left foot.

“Oh for God’s sake,” James snapped. “Sit down before you do yourself an injury.” He gestured at the chaise-lounge and Jack sat like his strings had been cut. “Take off those absurd boots and let me see. Goodness, man, your balance is poor enough without having both your feet under you.” As soon as the words escaped his lips he realized that Jack hadn’t been walking in his usual fashion; His arms stayed down by his sides, one foot went in front of the other. James winced and sat next to Jack, waiting until he’d pulled his boots back off.

Jack’s ankle was swollen and bruised but when James carefully prodded at it he found it wasn’t broken, or twisted, it was just a very sore looking sprain. 

James gave Jack the look he usually reserved for very young midshipmen. “Well?”

“Sort of landed on it funny the other day,” Jack mumbled. He glanced over at James and what little resolve Jack might have had, crumbled. “I took one final offense at bein’ sold an’ wound up getting pushed so’s I landed badly on my ankle.” He shifted uncomfortably. “The bath’ll be on its way.”

“Take off your shirt,” James said and Jack did as he was told. The stripes across his back had obviously been tended for, though they were still fresh enough to look sore. The bruising, now that he was close enough to see it, was spectacular, if not mostly hidden underneath the tattoo. James brushed a finger across an unmarked patch of skin and Jack shivered. “How does it feel?”

Jack shrugged and his shoulders stayed hunched up around his ears. “Foot’s fuckin’ killing me,” he said with a sigh. “But me back’s all right. I’ve had worse.”

“That really isn’t the point.” James sat back and scrutinized the tattoo under the healing stripes. “I am sorry about your ship,” he said, touching the very tip of the mainmast so Jack would know he was referring to the tattoo and not the real Pearl.

Jack did something cunning with the muscles of his shoulders and back so for a brief moment it looked as though the sails were filled with air and the Pearl was running before the wind. Then Jack hissed between his teeth again and subsided. “Worked better before it hurt,” he muttered.

“If I asked,” James said cautiously, “would you tell me?”

“Y’re only in trouble if you get caught,” Jack said softly. He’d taken hold of his own wrist and was running his thumb over the leg of the R brand that had changed it from a P. “I’ll tell y’ the sky is purple, if it pleases your fancy, but I’m a liar by trade, Commodore, an’ the truth is one thing they couldn’t make me give ‘em.”

James reached over and snagged his dressing gown, pulling it towards them so he could drape it over Jack’s shoulders. “Not your pride?”

The look Jack gave him was tired and pained. “No, that went early enough. Don’t ask me for the truth, I ain’t ready for that.”

The bath arrived before James could think of anything to say to that. There was already a tub in one of the adjoining rooms, towels laid out next to it and the water was brought in and poured into the bath, hot enough to steam. James had never seen anything so inviting in his life. 

James scratched at the back of his neck where the sweat had dried. He felt slightly disgusting in his own skin and wanted nothing more than to sink into the water and scrub until he felt human again. Instead, once the door had shut behind the servants, he settled himself down on a little chair in the corner, leaned back and laid an arm over his eyes. “You’d best get in before it gets cold.” He didn’t look at Jack; he had no desire whatsoever to watch whatever desperate play of emotions would chase their way across Jack’s face. It was exhausting and depressing.

There was a soft touch on his arm. “Commodore…”

“Get in the bath, Jack.” 

The hand withdrew abruptly and James slumped down in his seat just a little bit further. He waited, listening to the soft, muted sounds of Jack taking his clothing off, folding them, setting them neatly down, and then, finally, sliding carefully into the bath. The water, despite Jack’s best efforts to be silent, splashed and sloshed for a moment before it finally settled down again. James took his hand off his eyes and glanced over at Jack. Jack was sitting, knees up to his chest, arms around his knees, forehead resting on his arms. He wasn’t washing.

James gave Jack a long, tired stare before he got to his feet. “The usual procedure for bathing, Jack, is to immerse oneself into the water and then scrub. Do we have a problem?”

“No.” Jack lifted his head to look at James; the ends of his hair were wet. Since it had been combed out and cared for, it hung a little past his shoulders and was curling slightly in the damp heat of the steam. “I jus’ assumed this…all things considered, Commodore, I’m cleaner right now than I’ve been most of me life. I’d ’ve thought this was for you.”

“I was planning on waiting until you were done,” James said dryly. “But I’d prefer the water not to be completely tepid, if you don’t mind.”

Jack smiled crookedly. “Room enough for two.” He picked up the soap and waggled it invitingly at James. “You can scrub my back for me.”

There was something off about the request but James was just a little too tired and footsore to think it through. “Very well, but I am in no patience for untoward comments or jibes, so kindly keep those to yourself. I’m sure you will entertain your crew with them at some later date, but not now, if you please.”

“I won’t say a word.” Jack turned the soap over in his hands, staring at it avidly as James undressed. “Cross me little black heart.”

James had been in the Navy since he was twelve and in that time he had seen more male bodies than he cared to think about, in various states of undress. He had bathed with other men often enough before. He had even, on one memorable occasion, been to one of those old fashioned steam houses where fat, important men sat about and discussed their own importance. Perhaps, under more auspicious circumstances, he might have relished the thought of climbing into a private bath with a rather attractive man. However, as James slipped into the bath behind Jack, Jack’s hair slid away from the back of his neck revealing what looked like fingerprints on the bronzed skin. Considering that the rather attractive man in question was Jack Sparrow, pirate before and now James’ own slave it rather negated any attraction that might have been there had circumstances been different. It was also rather disconcerting to think of Jack Sparrow as anything other than irksome, filthy and altogether undesirable. It really didn’t bear thinking about.

Whatever James’ thoughts on Jack’s state of attraction and personal hygiene, Jack’s back needed tending to, so James held out his hand for the soap and Jack passed it back without a word. James lathered his hands and smoothed them over the healing skin, frowning to himself when Jack flinched at even such a light touch. “Let me know if I’m hurting you.” 

Jack shook his head. “Jus’ a bit stiff, that’s all.” 

Well, so much for Jack not having any pride left. James sighed and pressed his thumbs into the muscles of Jack’s shoulders. Jack hissed between his teeth and his head dropped back forwards onto his arms. “So this is your idea of ‘not hurting you?’” James asked sarcastically, rinsing his hands off in the water before he started scrubbing himself. He was stiff. His feet hurt, his calves ached and his shoulders were knotted tight. He was his own perfect model of what ‘a bit stiff’ should feel like, or even what ‘moderately to quite stiff’ might feel like. Jack was bruised black as the ink under his skin. That was not stiff. That was beaten far past discipline could ever demand. 

“I’m perfectly able,” Jack snapped, twisting about so he could glare at James. “’M sure even a bright lad like you caught hisself a few switches with the schoolmaster’s cane every now ‘n then. If soft-skinned little schoolboys can bear it, how’s it you think I can’t?”

James pressed his lips into a thin line. “That explains a lot.” He prodded Jack in the shoulder, turning him back around again. “Is there anything else you’d care to tell me now, to save me finding it out later?” He picked up the little cup and used it to douse Jack’s head with it, and then his own, ignoring the sputtering from the pirate. “Sprained ankle, severely bruised back, stripes on top of the bruising, recent branding…” James tipped the provided unguent over Jack’s head and started scrubbing. He wasn’t sure why, but it made him feel better as the fancy oils slicked over the surface of the bath and Jack’s hair tangled under his hands as Jack spat and cursed like a half-drowned cat.

“They didn’t test the wares, if that’s what you’re drivin’ at,” Jack sputtered as James tipped another bucket of water over his head. He started to rub his eyes but James caught hold of his wrists. 

“Don’t, you’ll only make them sting worse.” He let go when Jack made no move to struggle and scrubbed at his own hair, washing out the sweat, dust and powder from his wig. “And I wasn’t suggesting anything, Jack, I was simply asking you for the…the sum of your injuries.” Not the truth, not yet. 

Jack shook his head again. “Nothin’ that’ll trouble me now.” He stood abruptly and climbed carefully out of the bath, wrapping a towel around his waist and dripping all over the floor. “Here, let me.” He pulled the chair over so he could sit and picked up a washcloth so he could wash James’ back. “’M cleaner ‘n you anyways an’ I’ve…” his mouth twisted into something that would have been a smile if there had been any humor in it, “I’ve learned a few tricks in the past months.”

James wasn’t sure he wanted to know exactly what Jack meant.

“Oh don’ make that face,” Jack laughed. “Y’ look like a maiden aunt gettin’ her arse pinched. I meant things like back washin’, foot rubbin’, shite like that. I’m a regular lady’s maid these days.”

“Well I’m glad you see the humor in it,” James snapped, before he could think to bite his tongue. He sighed when Jack went very abruptly quiet. “I only meant that I’m concerned and I don’t take…It’s been a long time since someone’s poked fun at me where I can hear it, that’s all.”

Jack rubbed soothing circles on his back with the cloth, easing the tension out of James’ shoulders and neck. “Well it’s a good thing you’ve got me then, ain’t it, Commodore?”

“James.”

The expression of bemusement on Jack’s face was nothing short of comical. He tipped his head to one side, pulled down his eyebrows and pursed his lips; the washcloth hovered halfway between scrubbing James’ back and the water in the tub. “Eh?” 

James shook his head and smiled a little to himself. “My name is James.”

The expression of bemusement changed in an instant and James couldn’t say he liked the tone it took. “Aye, aye, Commodore,” Jack said softly. “’F you say so.”

“I do.” James could feel his shoulders tightening up again. “I see no reason not to be on more familiar terms whilst we’re alone, and since I am to call you Jack, it seems only correct that you address me by my own Christian name.”

Jack looked away. “I can’t call you by your Christian name, Commodore, ‘less I feel like callin’ you ‘Master James’ an’ sorry if I ain’t that far down yet.” He sounded furious but when he started rinsing the suds out of James’ hair, his hands were steady and gentle.

James smacked Jack’s hands away irritably. “I wouldn’t expect you to call me anything of the kind.”

“Well, Commodore, you’re a daft bugger who can’t see an inch before his nose.” Jack threw the washcloth at James’ head and stormed out. Considering he was wearing nothing more than a towel and was limping to boot made it something of a less impressive exit than Jack might have hoped for. As it was, James found himself smiling as he plucked the cloth off his head and finished washing. 

Considering now what Jack’s idea of servitude seemed to be, and what, in his mind, apparently constituted being broken and what was only his bending, James could see why they had considered Jack as yet unbroken, no matter what Jack’s own thoughts on the matter might be. 

*~*~*~*

Jack was really quite beautiful.

He was also incredibly stubborn and annoying.

James found all these traits attractive and wasn’t sure which he found more puzzling; his recognition of Jack’s handsomeness, or that he enjoyed the company of someone so infuriating.

*~*~*~*

“Have you any other clothes?” James found Jack huddled on the floor in the bedroom, still wearing only the towel, dripping onto the carpet, fumbling with the packet of trinkets. 

When James spoke, Jack startled and dropped the packet and the beads started rolling away. He didn’t move to chase them, he just slumped in defeat. “No.” Jack was clutching the broken remains of the spine he’d had woven into his hair. 

James sighed and crouched down next to Jack. He’d changed into his dressing gown and he really hoped he wasn’t simply making a fool of himself in front of the pirate, but Jack seemed more concerned with picking up the scattered baubles than mocking the soft paleness of James’ legs. James started helping and Jack very nearly dropped the beads he’d picked up again.

“What’re you doing?”

James frowned. “What do you mean?” He handed Jack a die with a hole bored through the middle. “Here.”

“You’re not supposed to be down on your hands and knees with me.” Jack shoved his hair out of his face and James could see more bruising on Jack’s neck and a vague, lingering yellowing on his temple where he had obviously been bruised near his hairline.

“You went through my pockets,” James said abruptly, making a little pile of the beads and gewgaws he found. “These were in my coat.”

Jack flinched. Very carefully he set down his baubles and twisted his fingers around themselves. His shoulders were a delicate, defeated line. “I’d be grateful if you’d aim more for me lower back. Not that I’m telling you what to do, but I’m not sure I’ll be good for much if you take to my shoulders again.”

“I beg your pardon?” James asked. “Did I not already say that I had no intention of striking you, never mind beating you?” 

“People say a lot of things, Commodore,” Jack said, equally as quietly. 

James was tempted to smack Jack over the head just for being an idiot but settled for throwing a scrimshaw at Jack instead. It bounced off Jack’s cheek and fell onto the carpet. “Well, unlike you, I am not a liar by trade and when I say something I most almost always mean it. So listen carefully to me, Jack; you’re a damned fool.”

Jack stared at the scrimshaw as though it was a fish that had jumped up on the table and started performing a hornpipe. “You threw that at me,” he said stupidly.

“I did.” James picked it up again and put it back in his pile. “When I brought up the subject of your rifling through my pockets, not that I ought to condone theft, I was simply pointing out that whatever it is they’ve done to you, they don’t seem to have made a lasting impression and I’m incredibly impressed at your tenacity.”

“You think a bit of pickpocketing is tenacity?” Jack said incredulously. 

James stared down at the glass bead he was holding. “With that bruising, yes.” He put it down in the pile. “You can borrow some of my things until we can get you something of your own.” He tried to smile. “Feel free to go through the rest of my things and find something that fits. I’ve got to attend dinner in an hour or so but I’ll have the servants send something up here for you to eat so you can rest your ankle.”

Jack rubbed at the back of his neck thoughtfully. “You’re an odd man, Commodore.”

James got to his feet with a groan. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Anything in particular you’d like?” At Jack’s blank look he elaborated with, “To eat.” Jack stared up at him shaking his head in utter bewilderment. It struck James that it might all be a bit too much for Jack to parse, so he nodded. “Never mind, I’ll just get them to send up something nice.”

What they sent up, in the end, was almost exactly what James had at the table with the other guests; soup, rather delicious beef, fruit, cheese, a bottle of wine and something that looked far too sweet for James’ palate and that he’d declined to eat. He found Jack licking the last of the syrupy sugar off his fingers when he came back to the room. Jack was wearing James’ dressing gown and when he looked up James could see a flash of silver at the end of a braid.

“I hope you didn’t eat entirely with your fingers,” James said dryly, sitting down at the little table across from Jack. 

Jack grinned his mouthful of gold and silver at James. He was drunk, James realized. “How were all the little lords and ladies?” Jack asked, slightly slurred. “Maybe I’ll eat with you next time, with my fingers, an’ give them all a shock.”

James sighed. “I’d rather not talk about it. They would have been intolerable if I had been fully awake, but I’m exhausted and so they were beyond intolerable.”

Jack staggered to his feet and gave an exaggerated bow. “Then to bed, m’lord.”

“I’m not a lord,” James said. “And after that dinner, I’ve no wish to ever become one.” He got up again, deciding Jack had the right idea for once, and that passing out for the rest of the evening sounded wonderful. Jack limped after James, following him into the bedroom. If James looked at him askance, he almost thought he could see a bit of a sway and roll to Jack’s walk that didn’t have to do with the bottle of wine Jack had drunk. “I appreciate your company,” James said, “but I’m certain I can dress for bed without any assistance or audience.” He turned to settle his wig onto its stand and to hang his jacket, and when he turned back Jack was standing, dressing down pooled at his feet, utterly naked. “Jack?” James looked away but not until too late.

It was too late to avoid having the image of Jack burned into the back of his eyelids, even though he closed his eyes against it. Jack was a golden-brown all over. All over, and the expanse of skin was marked with old scars and tattoos as well as the more recent bruising and cuts. Jack was a little too thin, collarbones a little too sharp, but his stomach was softly curved from the good food. His hair was unbrushed and it tangled around his face, long, dark lashes hooding a slightly unfocused gaze.

“What are you doing Jack?” James asked, though he was certain he knew already. He opened his eyes to find that Jack had moved behind him as Jack reached up to pull James’ waistcoat off his shoulders, the tips of Jack’s fingers brushing over James’ shoulder blades and back.

“Depends on what you want, Commodore,” Jack purred into his ear, slipping his hands around and over James’ chest so he could unbutton James’ shirt.

James grabbed Jack’s wrists, to still his hands, which had the unfortunate effect of making Jack flinch at the touch on his fresh branding and keeping him trapped up against James’ back. “I want you to cease your violation of my person and put some clothing on. I then hope, beyond hope, that you might get into the bed and sleep so on the morrow you can continue your recuperation.”

Jack pressed up behind James, body hot against the fabric of James’ breeches and shirt. “’Zat so?” He tugged gently, so James let go of his wrists and let Jack turn him around. Jack sashayed backwards, sitting on the bed before scooting over the covers to sprawl invitingly on the comforter. “In bed like this?” He wasn’t even slightly hard.

“We’ll have another conversation when you’re sober,” James said and went to leave the room.

“An’ what’s wrong with me?” Jack snapped, rather abruptly.

James rested his forehead against the doorframe. “Nothing, Jack, expect that you are injured-”

“Barely.”

“Drunk.”

“Tipsy.”

“A man.”

Jack snorted. “Navy,” he said dismissively. 

“Then the only reason I can fathom for this lunatic suggestion of yours, if it is not drunkenness or a genuine interest in unnatural acts, that you are making some ill-conceived attempt to…to repay me.” James risked a glance in Jack’s direction. While Jack was still naked in his bed, he had pulled his knees up to his chest, arms wrapped around them, chin resting on them.

Jack glared at him, but there was more desperation than fury in the expression. “I’ve got nothing else,” Jack said. “An’ to be fair, this is yours if you want it anyway. I just thought I’d offer it.”

James took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I am going to take a pillow and a blanket. I am going to sleep in the other room and I am going to pretend that you never said that to me.”

“I ent got anything else,” Jack said again, “and I won’t be beholden to you.”

“You aren’t,” James said shortly. “I don’t do any of this for repayment or thanks.”

“Because you serve others.” Jack sighed. “The world’s not done right by you, Commodore. She ought to bend over backwards so you get the things you want.”

“Goodnight, Jack.” James took a pillow and forwent the blanket, heading back into the sitting room. He’d barely settled himself in when Jack followed, wearing one of James’ spare nightshirts. “Yes?” James asked.

“It’s your bed.”

James buried his face in the pillow. “Goodnight, Jack.”

“It’s your bed an’ I’ll sleep on the floor in protest if I have to.” Jack, when James looked up, had his arms folded stubbornly. “The couch is good enough for me an’ a damn sight more comfortable than I’m used to these days.”

“You’re in no shape for it.”

Jack scowled. “Bollocks.” He appeared to consider for a moment, then said, “It’s big enough for the both of us if you’re going to be all noble and stalwart. An’ I promise no funny business.”

“That would be highly inappropriate,” James said.

“I’m not a sprawler or a cuddler. I hardly snore an’ I ent about to start talking or moving about either. Just get in the damn bed because I’d rather not sleep on the floor, all things considered.” Jack gave him a slightly drunk, rather tired look. “Please.”

James sat up. “If I told you to sleep on the couch…”

“Then I’m on the couch,” Jack said without hesitation.

James stood and picked up the pillow. “Then I suppose I ought to oblige you.” He gave Jack a stern look. “But if I hear one more word about repayment or anything of the sort then I’m sleeping on the couch again and you can go to the devil. Do we understand one another?”

Jack grinned crookedly. “No goodnight kiss then?” he asked cheekily.

James threw the pillow at his head and it was to his great satisfaction that it actually hit Jack.

*~*~*~*

The room was dark. One man curled up around another and stared thoughtfully at his sleeping companion.

“Goodnight, Commodore.”

*~*~*~*

Jack was a liar. A dirty, stinking liar. Not only did he snore and mumble in his sleep but he was also a cuddler. James woke up with Jack pressed up against him, face tucked into James’ neck, mouth open, snoring slightly, fingers clenched in James’ nightshirt and legs tangled around James’. It was far too hot for such intimacies and the sweat had stuck them together most unpleasantly.

James lay on his back and stared up at the ceiling. A spider had found its way into the room and was steadily building a web between one of the lamps and the wall. “Jack.”

“Mngh,” was his only reply.

James elbowed Jack in the side. “Jack, wake up.”

Jack grunted and curled up closer. “Fuck you,” he said, quite plainly. He then opened his eyes abruptly and pushed himself away from James, back onto his side of the bed, tucked up into himself. “Sorry,” Jack said. “I thought you were someone else.”

“I dread to think,” James said distantly, wondering what and who exactly Jack had taken him for. The one he’d been wrapped around, or the one he’d so vehemently told where to go. The question must have shown on his face because Jack said, “I didn’t always get a pleasant awakening.”

“Ah.” James decided not to press the matter. “I suspect that we will be breakfasting sooner rather than not, and I suspect you might wish to wash and shave.” He laid a little more emphasis on ‘wish’ than he ought to have, but all things considered, he’d rather share a living space with someone who washed than with someone who didn’t. And the Jack Sparrow of his previous acquaintance wasn’t someone who always smelt as James might wish.

Jack wrinkled his nose. “All this washing,” he complained. “T’ain’t healthy.” But he got out of the bed nevertheless, scratching at his stomach and yawning. He considered the washstand for a moment and then turned back to James, a carefully blank expression on his face. “Unless you’d rather stay abed.” The hand that had been scratching now trailed somewhat suggestively down his stomach. It would have been less absurd if he hadn’t been wearing a slightly oversized nightshirt. It would have been less pitiful if he’d been smiling and not so somber.

James looked away. “Try to keep your weight off your ankle today as much as possible. And be quick with the washbasin, I’ve got an early morning appointment to make.”

Jack’s hand moved to fall down by his side. “Let me know if you change your mind,” he said absently and stumbled sleepily towards the cutthroat and soap. 

James watched him wash, watched Jack shave his cheeks but not his upper lip, nor his chin and smiled slightly to himself as Jack examined the braid in his hair and the curling ends of the rest of the already tangled mess atop his head. “I could have you join me today, if you’d like to leave the rooms,” James offered. “It would be in attendance, but I don’t imagine you’d have to do much more than follow me about.”

“P’raps once I’ve got something that doesn’t make me look like a hareem girl,” Jack said, twisting his hair between his fingers, to coax it into its usual lovelocks. Without the addition of sea and wind though it was resolutely remaining curled and not locked. “So p’raps once we’re away from here an’ I can filch something of my own.”

“You needn’t resort to theft,” James said, finally getting up. “I wager I can find or buy something that ought to suit you.”

Jack frowned into the glass. “Commodore-”

James came over to the mirror and took the cutthroat from Jack. “Don’t even start,” he warned. “You will need something to start you on your way, and I do what I can.”

“Not for me,” Jack said quietly.

“I beg your pardon?” James asked, halfway through scraping the first of the morning’s beard off his face.

Jack shrugged and shuffled off, rifling through James’ wardrobe. “Don’t trouble yourself on my account.” They were both silent as James shaved and Jack set out undergarments, breeches, stockings, shirt, weskit, jacket and shoes, all very obviously for James.

Abruptly, James set the razor down. “Aren’t you a man like any other?” he demanded. “Oughtn’t you have your freedom like any other?”

“Freedom ain’t real,” Jack said bitterly and wouldn’t talk to James for the rest of the morning.

*~*~*~*

They didn’t speak again until the evening when James returned to the rooms in order to dress for dinner. He found Jack, dressed in clothing that James hadn’t owned previously. The clothing looked second hand but it mostly fit and it was mostly unstained.

“I’ve made a note of what I owe you,” Jack said preemptively. 

James scowled at him. “You have quite missed the point.” He adjusted his wig and changed out of his coat into another, swatting at Jack’s hands when Jack tried to help him.

Jack slept on the sofa that night, and James wasn’t sure why he felt so badly about the whole situation.

*~*~*~*

“Freedom is real,” James said, as they took a turn about the garden. Jack was hardly limping at all. “It’s the reason I’m in the navy.” Jack didn’t say anything so James continued. “I gave up my own so that I might protect that of others. And now that freedom in question is yours. You might privateer for the crown when we are quit of here, or you might sail off the ends of the earth. I’d rather it was the first, but your options are always open. Isn’t that freedom enough?”

Jack gave him an odd look. “Do you ever do anything just for you, Commodore?”

“I was going to marry Miss Swann,” James said, after a moment’s thought. “I had thought we could make one another happy. Of course, she and Mr. Turner are far better suited, but still, I had never seen myself as the villain to come between someone and the one they love.”

“They played you unfairly,” Jack agreed. “But she’s got too much pirate in her for you anyway. Reminds me a lot of myself, actually.”

James laughed. “Perhaps I was bored of the society ladies.”

“You should smile more often,” Jack said, staring out over the gardens at the sea. “It suits you.”

*~*~*~*

Jack watched him constantly.

Sometimes curiously, sometimes with amusement. Sometimes sadly.

James rather liked the attention.

*~*~*~*

They parted ways on the dock of Port Royal, with a handshake, the _Black Pearl_ moored in the harbor and the bumboat coming for Jack, Gibbs shouting and hallooing from the water.

Jack scratched at his growing beard. “I suppose I’ll see you about,” he said.

“I suppose so.” James gave him the certificate of ownership. “Stay out of trouble.”

Jack grinned and tucked the paper into his shirt. “If you say so.” Jack didn’t sound as though he meant it, and for some reason, despite all the headaches James was sure it would cause him, he was rather pleased about it.

“Thank you.”

“I don’t ask for your thanks,” James said. 

Jack shrugged. “Those you get for free.” He patted James on the shoulder. “You really ought to smile more often. Before the wind changes an’ all that.”

They parted ways with a handshake and then James went and got rather drunk, and he wasn’t sure why. He suspected that he was going to miss Jack. 

*~*~*~*

Gillette looked incredibly put out about something. “Sir,” he said tightly, “letter for you.” It was actually a letter and a little package that clinked suspiciously like money, but Gillette put both down on the desk and glowered out into the harbor. 

James glanced up from his desk, noted the face Gillette was pulling and sat back in his chair, deciding that the tariffs on whathaveyou would have to wait until Gillette was gone and he could confer with merchants. It was all rather tedious and even if Gillette was bringing bad news, it might at least get him out of the office and into the sunshine. He took the letter and opened it. 

The letter was battered about the edges, and the seal was thick, so as to stand up to poor handling. “Comodore Norington” was written in such elaborate script that it took James a moment to realize that both words were spelt wrong. He cracked the seal and scanned the contents.

“It was brought in yesterday,” Gillette said. “Rather, Captain Sparrow brought it to me, by his own hand and I was told not to deliver it until this morning. Some nonsense about time sensitive information. He was quite adamant about it though, so I thought perhaps you had some sort of pre-arrangement.”

James looked out the window. The _Black Pearl_ had moored two days ago and had been delivering on her promise to privateer and had unloaded the goods she had taken from the Spanish. James had been expecting a visit from her erstwhile Captain for two days but it seemed as though a note was all he was to receive. As he watched, the _Pearl_ hauled up her anchor and made ready to get underway.

“Time sensitive?” James asked.

Gillette watched the _Pearl_ ’s sails hauled down and frowned a little more. “I expect, seeing as he’s leaving with such haste, that the news will not be favorable.”

Jack’s handwriting was quite beautiful. There were the inevitable blots and crossings out from writing at sea, but overall it was something any man would be proud to display. His spelling, however, left much to be desired.

_“Comodore. As you no dowbt hav gatherd, the _Black Pearl_ has made her caling to Port Royale and you will be ~~receev~~ geting the cargo from her soon enof. You will allso find my pacage for you. Enclosed is part of my own wage. It is not so much as you are owed, but I will send more as soon as it has been ernd. With thanks, CJS.”_

James frowned almost as much as Gillette. Enclosed with the letter was the contract he had used to buy Jack with and it had been gone over by a clerk of some description because it had been declared invalid by law. Jack was no longer a freed man; he was, once again, simply a free man.

“What in God’s good name happened while you were away?” Gillette asked, as the _Black Pearl_ sailed out of the harbor.

James sighed. “I discovered that some people cannot see the difference between a good deed done them and a debt needing repayment.” He stood. “This could look rather suspect, I shall have to take the matter to the Governor immediately so all is made legal and aboveboard.”

Gillette peered at the contract and his eyes widened comically. “Sir?”

“No good deed goes unpunished, as they say.” James gathered up all the parts of his message and tucked them back into each other. “I would appreciate anything you’ve seen not leaving the office.”

“Yessir.” Gillette actually saluted, then faltered. “How did you-”

James gestured for Gillette to precede him out of the office. “Perhaps the next time Captain Sparrow makes port you might ask him to tell you the story. I am certain his version will be far more entertaining than my own.”

That said, James didn’t feel as though he really knew the story. He didn’t know how Jack had found himself in such a dire position. Jack had never elaborated on his time as a captive and their days together were nothing that James felt he could explain to Gillette. Best that any answers come from Jack Sparrow, who actually seemed to know what was going on.

*~*~*~*

Four packages and almost a whole year later and Jack’s debt was repaid.

There was no sign of the _Black Pearl_.

Reports came in and James knew what betrayal felt like for the second time in as many years.

James stopped waiting.

*~*~*~*

Some time in the early hours of the morning, when all sensible folk were abed, James woke to the sound of something at his bedroom window. He quietly and quickly pushed his blankets away and reached for his pistol. He had the gun cocked and aimed at the window when Jack came tumbling through, landing in an ungainly sprawl on the carpet.

“Hullo,” Jack said, grinning up at him.

James didn’t uncock the gun. “You attacked an English ship,” he said, reaching up to steady the pistol with his other hand as it grew rapidly heavier.

Jack got up, dusting himself off. He looked much like he always had, before everything. There was lampblack smeared around his eyes and on his hands. His hair was a tangled, salt stiff mess of braids and lovelocks, glinting and clinking in the candlelight from the gewgaws woven into it. His clothing was dirty with salt and sand and he smelt of the sea, docks, unwashed pirate, pitch, fish and rum. He had another gold tooth. “I might’ve.” Jack sashayed up to James and pushed the gun to the side. “Did you expect any less?” His moustache had completely grown back, as had the goatee, though the twin braids were shorter than they had before Jack had been shaved.

“To be fair,” James put the gun away, “no; I had no such expectations, though I had hoped.”

“Well then,” Jack said. “I suppose the only question you ought to ask is ‘Jack, why are you here,’ ain’t it?” He leaned in, too close, too far into James’ personal space and his breath smelt of rum and salted meat and, oddly enough, of oranges. “But you’re too sensible for all that.”

James sat down on the bed, partly because he was tired, and partly because standing so close to Jack was making him uncomfortable. “You had a pardon. All you had to do was stay away from English ships. Now I have an obligation to hang you and, after everything, I find myself disinclined to do so. You have made my life into a very difficult place, I hope you know.”

Jack took off his hat and set it on the seat by the window; his new bandanna was a rusty red, much like the last one had been. “You said, once, that you’d have nothing to do with repayment, or thanks, or obligation etc.” He stared out into the night, hands curled about the windowsill. “An’ I’ve never done well with debts, or thanks, or obligation. But I’ve thanked you as a man, an’ I’ve repaid you as I saw fit – no, don’t argue, it needed doing. Then I suppose it’s fair to say that I’ve gone and thrown any debt, or obligation, or thanks to the winds by turning back to piracy in the face of all you’ve done for me. Wouldn’t you say so, James? You owe me nothing and I’m the same to you.”

“I suppose,” James said cautiously, unsure of where, precisely, Jack was going with his argument.

“So, James.” Jack glanced over his shoulder at James. “Why am I here?”

James stood again. “I have an obligation to hang you,” he said dully. “In that light I really can’t fathom your motives.”

Jack shrugged one shoulder, unconcerned. “Could’ve been the Spanish raiding the _Lady Devonshire_ ,” he said. “God knows they’ve been all over your boys these days. No one would say otherwise. I suspect a war’s about to break out. You’ll be busy enough then with things other than my good self. No need to get all preemptive an’ such.” He gave James an expectant look.

“Why are you here, Jack?”

“Ah,” Jack said. “That’s the trick.” He caught hold of James’ wrist and tugged him two steps forwards so they were pressed toe to toe and chest to chest against each other. His moustache was surprisingly soft when he kissed James. He tasted of salted pork, rum and oranges. The fingers of his other hand, the one that crept up to touch James’ face, smelt of oranges. Jack stepped back, head cocked expectantly to one side. “So what say you?” His fingers were calloused and rough against James’ wrist and the skin of his cheek.

James swallowed. “I’m afraid your motivation is still a little cloudy,” he said, sounding strained even to his own ears.

Jack rolled his eyes. “This ain’t payback, James, I’ve done that and we’re square now. This is you in an absurd nightshirt that I’d rather was on the floor and me wearing far too much for what I have in mind.” He stepped into James’ personal space again and licked a hot, wet trail up the curve of his throat and ear. “I want to fuck, James Norrington. We can work out the details as we go.”

“Oh,” James said in a small voice and then, “Oh,” again in a gasp as Jack’s hand pressed firmly up against his erection, warm even through the fabric of his nightshirt.

“Say yes,” Jack purred into his ear.

James grabbed Jack’s coat and pushed it down off Jack’s shoulders, trapping Jack’s arms for a moment as they kissed, before it fell to the floor with a heavy thud. Jack unbuckled his own sword belt and kicked off his boots as James unwound the sash and then Jack’s weskit and shirt were on the floor and James was shoved up against a wall, one hand curving over the golden corrugation of Jack’s ribs and the other tangled in Jack’s hair, panting against Jack’s mouth, biting and kissing as Jack pushed one of his thighs in between James’.

Jack shoved the nightshirt up until it bunched under James’ arms and the fabric of his breeches was rough against James’ thighs and cock. Jack was muttering against James throat and it sounded like, “off” so James obligingly lifted his arms so Jack could tug the nightshirt over his head and discard it on the floor. James fumbled at the placket of Jack’s breeches as Jack wrapped his long, dirty fingers around James’ prick and into the sweaty tangle of James’ hair, kissing him hard enough to bruise.

“Christ, James,” Jack growled grinding against him. “I want to have you.”

James pushed his hand into Jack’s breeches so Jack groaned and shuddered. “Yes,” James said hoarsely. 

*~*~*~*

Jack lay on his side, smelling strongly of sweat and sex with James tucked up behind him, smelling about as good. James’ fingers traced the scars that mapped Jack’s torso and smoothed over the flat of his stomach and the curve of hip.

“We were off the coast of Madagascar,” Jack said. There was a bead in his hair that looked very much like the missing button from James’ uniform. “I went ashore to arrange for fresh water.”

James’ hand stilled. “You don’t have to tell me.”

Jack smiled slightly in the dark. “I’m a liar by trade, Commodore; I don’t have to tell anyone the truth.” His fingers wrapped around James’. “Sometimes I just want to.” They were silent for a moment and then Jack let go of James and his fingers came up to illustrate his story. “It was stinking hot there, let me tell you that much..."


End file.
